Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Big mega thanks to my wonderful beta, LisaDawn75 - without her, this would still be lots of words with bad tense and poor punctuation.

When a wife loses her husband, she is called a widow.

When a husband loses his wife, he is called a widower.

There is no name for a parent who loses a child.

1921

I had nothing left. The only thing that had ever been mine had been taken away from me – my hope and my future. My life. Why was I being scourged for protecting him?

The harsh wind burned my blotchy and tear-stained face while sobs escaped my lips uncontrollably. I had nothing to live for. Why was God punishing me? For leaving my husband? For wanting to live my life with my child – alone? I prayed that He would understand I was doing this for my unborn child…but did He hear my prayers anymore? I did not want the growing life inside of me to come to harm by the hand of his father. But I was obviously very wrong. I had taken vows under the eyes of God and before our families, and so, by running, I had sinned. And now, I had been censured. My four days of happiness had been shattered. I was empty.

The only way out for me was off this cliff – Perhaps The Lord would be merciful and reunite me with my son again once it was all over.

For all eternity.

I gazed over the edge, unafraid of what was to come. Surely death could not be as horrible as feeling the absolute destruction of my heart and soul.

It was a long drop and I wondered if it would hurt. How cold the thrashing waves appeared. If the fall did not kill me, then surely those sharp, frigid rocks would. I would never have to bother anyone again.

* * *

Five Months Earlier…

I clutched the tiny bulge that was my stomach and smiled to myself. I was making the right decision. I was unable to shield myself from the attacks and the punches, and there was no way that I would endanger this precious life inside of me. Charles was sensible enough to keep the bruises in areas that were unlikely to be seen, so it was not as if anyone would help me or believe me anyway.

I had spoken to my mother, but she tried to tell me that perhaps I was disobeying him – that Charles was a good man. But I was afraid of what he might do. If I told him that I was with child, would the nightly abuse stop? Or would he continue to force me into making love to him...holding me down, forcing his entry into my body? And if I were to anger him, would he chasten me by taking his boot to my womb?

I was not prepared to find out.

I had to get away from him – for me and my child. I knew it meant that I would have to sacrifice my entire family and hope that they would never find me, but that was what I was willing to do for my baby. However, I knew I would have to make plans if I were to be successful.

I found solitude with a second cousin in Milwaukee, but after just a few short weeks my whereabouts was relayed to my parents. It was time to move on once again, so I moved north to a small community just outside of Ashford, Wisconsin.

I had worked as a teacher during the war, so it was easy to seek employment once again for a few short months before my child was to be born. I had worried that teaching would make me easy to find. But it was never an issue. Perhaps my family and Charles had given up? I was not sure. Either way, though, I needed to find a source of income.

And so, I found a home, and tried my very best to blend in. Posing as one of many war widows. Perhaps one day, I would find someone whom I could love and have more children with. That was the biggest dream of my life. A second chance at love.

I had taken the money from a savings account I had opened and contributed to while Charles was gone to the war. It was enough to set me up in a small room in a shared building. It was not ideal, but it was dry and there was a lock on my door. If I was able to get a job, I would be able to set up a home...I hoped.

***

It was a Monday morning when I went into labor; I was two days past my expected due date. My waters suddenly broke and then the pain started coming quickly; I could barely stand up from the agony. A scream ripped from my throat. I needed help, however. I could not afford to have the baby in a hospital. Most of my friends at home in Ohio had given birth at home. So I could do this – albeit alone, if I had to.

My sounds of misery alerted Martha, who lived down the hall from me. She came to my aid, aware of the situation I was in after watching my stomach swell the past few months. She was such a kind woman who was so reassuring and who had assisted in many home births. She asked me if I would allow her to help me, seeing as how I was not planning on going to the hospital. I accepted most gratefully. Martha was a wonderful, caring midwife. She helped me breathe, told me when to pant, and when to push.

On Tuesday morning at 6:10 am, I gave birth to a beautiful baby boy – my son. I named him William. His eyes were bright blue and he had a headful of caramel-colored hair – just like my own. I was overcome with a sense of pure love and affection for this tiny person. I knew that he was going to be mine forever.

I was so thankful that Martha was there to help me as William's umbilical cord was wrapped around his neck and he was silent. Martha unwrapped the cord and gave him a small slap on his rump which prompted him to take a loud scream. Tears fell from my eyes as I cuddled him and told him how much I loved him. I held him to my breast and fed him; it was the most amazing feeling. I was a mother! I now had someone to take care of, someone who was totally and completely dependent on me. And he was perfect. I felt complete. All I wanted to do was to keep William safe.

But, I could not even do that.

Two days later, I noticed some changes in William. He did not seem able to eat, no matter how much he wanted to. His head would frantically wriggle in the direction of my breasts where he could smell the sweet milk gathering for him. Yet, when I helped him to latch on, he would suckle for a moment, then pull away crying and coughing up a lot of mucus. Something was just not right.

I swaddled William and carried him to see Martha, tears in my eyes. I was terrified. What was happening? Perhaps he did not like my milk? Was I the reason he was sick?

Martha took him from me, her brow creased in concern. "Esme," she whispered as she raised a hand to his forehead. I could hear his raspy breathing as he now struggled to breathe. "We need to take him to a doctor."

Everything after was a blur to me. I remember holding him in my arms as Martha hailed and paid for a horse and gig to take us to the hospital. The hustle and bustle of the hospital as I was ushered in was nothing but a constant buzz in my ears. A nurse took William from my arms and disappeared through a set of double doors. I fell to my knees, crying for my son. Please, God, please don't punish my son for my mistakes!

I soon found myself in a small white room.

***

The look on the doctor's face was forlorn. He gestured for me to take a seat on a dark, hard, wooden chair. I thought I had no more tears to produce, but I was wrong. I sat numbly and looked up as one of the nurses brought my baby in, swaddled tightly. She handed him to me silently.

The doctor looked at me sadly. "Miss… I am so sorry. Your son isn't going to make it. He is very unwell, and there is nothing we can do. There is no treatment."

He explained to me that William had pneumonia, which was a serious infection of the lungs and chest. Babies did not cope well with this, particularly in bad weather such as we had been experiencing. He said that William and I probably did not have very much longer together. He told me there was no hope.

I could not speak. I felt physically sick, and I could not believe what this man was telling me. My baby...my baby whom I had run away for, strived to save… The baby, whom I carried in my womb for nine months, gave birth to in my apartment with only Martha present to help me, was being taken from me. What did I do wrong? Why did I not deserve to be a mother anymore? And mostly…how could I not have known that something was wrong?

I held William close to me, kissing him all over his perfect little face. His beautiful blue eyes remained closed and his breathing was slow and labored.

The doctor leaned forward and squeezed my shoulder gently. "I'll leave you alone with your baby now," he said quietly, wanting to give me some private moments with my son in his last hours of life.

I held him close, talking to him, and telling him how much I loved him with all my heart and soul. I did not want to believe what I had been told. Instead, I wanted to get up and run away from that place with William. I wanted to keep him safe and protect him like I should have been able to do. I could not live without him. How could I live my life, knowing that my baby was in Heaven? Would I ever even get to be with him in Heaven? Did God hate me so much that perhaps I did not deserve to be with him, ever?

William's breathing slowed a little, and he gasped. I could tell that he was trying to cry. I could do no more for him than whisper to him and hold him close. I could not save him from what was coming, no matter how much I tried. My body began to shake as I felt myself weaken. No, I could not – not in his hour of need. I had to be strong for him so that he knew that I would be with him on the other side as soon as I could.

It was 9:30 p.m. when William grew his little angel wings. Upon hearing my sobs, the doctor came to check on him. He took his stethoscope and listened to my son's chest. He shook his head. "I'm so very sorry, he's gone."

I nodded and another sob escaped my lips.

"We need to take him from you now," the doctor told me.

What!? They were going to take him from me? I held him tighter to my chest, wanting him...willing him to take a breath. If his little heart would win and beat once more, they could not take him away from me. I was his mother...he needed me.

As I needed him.

However, my will and body were not as strong as the doctor's. With the help of a nurse, who gently took my hands, the doctor took William from my arms. He looked as though he were merely sleeping. I wanted him so much. I gazed at his precious little face, trying through my tears to take and memorize in every last detail of him. He looked so perfect to me.

I broke down as he was carried out of the small white room. I will never forget that moment when the doctor turned his back on me, blocking my view from where my tiny child lay in his arms. "Take care of him," I whispered. I hoped I saw the doctor give me a silent nod.

And that was the last time I saw William.

I asked the nurse where they were taking my son and I wished that I had not. I was worried that down there with all of the dead, that he would be cold...and alone...afraid. I was afraid for him. I wanted to keep him safe with me. The nurse asked me how I wanted 'things dealt with' and at the time, I did not think. I only knew that I had no money. She had patted me on the arm and said, "Don't worry, the hospital will sort it out."

At the time I did not realize what this would mean – that he would not get a proper service where I could mourn him. Instead, he would lay in the ground, in an unmarked plot in a potter's field with strangers – victims of the Spanish Influenza, Jane and John Does, and whores. If only I had realized. I did not know that I would struggle to find him. I did not know that I would have nowhere to lay flowers for my child.

I walked home from the hospital that night, dazed...confused. I did not quite know where I was or even how I managed to get back in one piece. When I arrived there, however, I felt truly empty. My heart had been shattered into a million pieces. It could have been dead for all I cared.

So, I took myself away. I knew exactly what I was going to do. It was as though my plan had fallen into place. I had to be with William. I wanted to keep him safe within in my arms for all eternity.

I walked for what seemed like miles – out of the city limits, and I to the coast. The wind had a slight chill to it, and the cliff was high and steep. I took a deep breath as I walked to the edge.

I gazed over the edge. I was not afraid of what was to come. Surely death could not be as horrible as the feeling of the absolute destruction of my heart and soul.

With only thoughts of William, I stepped off the edge.

People say that when you die, your life flashes in front of your eyes. Mine did not. All I could see before me was William's face, his eyes gazing at me. I hoped be with him soon.

But then the blackness came.

A/N -

Please do R&R and let me know what you think - I do have more if people would like me to carry on.

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